"Well, doggone, if that isn't the limit! All right. Don't get mad. I'll do it." The young gentleman leisurely ascended to the top of the stepladder and fell into line under the lash.
"Young Mr. Graydon Bansemer will be here this afternoon," said Droom. "I want to get things cleaned up a bit beforehand."
"How does he feel about his father?"
"He doesn't know about him, I'm afraid."
"Gee! Well, it'll jar him a bit, won't it?"
The office door was opened suddenly and a tall young man strode into the room, only to stop aghast at the sight before him. Droom's lank figure swayed uncertainly and his eyes wavered.
"What's all this?" cried Graydon, dropping his bag and coming toward the old man, his hand outstretched. Droom's clammy fingers rested lifelessly in the warm clasp.
"How are you, Graydon? I'm--I'm very glad to see you. You are looking well. Oh, this? We--we are moving," said the old man. The helpers looked on with interest. "Come into the back office. It isn't so torn up. I didn't expect you so soon. They said it was twenty-four hours late. Well, well, how are you, my boy?"
"I'm quite well again, Elias. Hard siege of it, I tell you. Moving, eh? What's that for?"
"Never mind those books, Eddie. Thank you for helping me. Come in some other time. You fellows--I mean you--pack the rest of these and then I'll tell you what to do next. Come in, Graydon."
Eddie Deever took his departure, deeply insulted because he had not been introduced to the newcomer. Graydon, somewhat bewildered, followed Droom into his father's consultation room. He looked around inquiringly.
"Where is father? I telegraphed to him."
An incomprehensible grin came into Droom's face. He twirled the umbrella in his fingers a moment before replying. His glance at the closed door was no more significant than his lowered tones.
"It didn't go very well with him, Graydon. He isn't here any more."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the trial. There was a trial, you see. Haven't you heard anything?"
"Trial? He--he was arrested?" came numbly from the young man's lips.
"I can't mince matters, Graydon. I'll get it over as quickly as possible. Your father was tried for blackmail and was convicted. He is in--he's in the penitentiary."
The son's face became absolutely bloodless; his eyes were full of comprehension and horror, and his body stiffened as if he were turning to stone. The word penitentiary fell slowly, mechanically from his lips. He looked into Droom's eyes, hoping it might be a joke of the calloused old clerk.
"You--it--it can't be true," he murmured, his trembling hands going to his temples.